


The Philharmonic

by villansmells



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Angst, Basically Porn, F/F, Fluffy, PWF, Soft af, conductor!eve, defo fluff, pianist!villanelle, plot twist maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villansmells/pseuds/villansmells
Summary: Basically, I'm a music nerd and I hadn't seen any orchestra-gf fics. So here I am, writing conductor Eve and pianist Villanelle. No idea where this will go but we move!
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 63





	1. Auditions

There had been plenty of creative, inspiring and complex characters sitting in that hall today. However, creativity and a gentle touch does not manifest the conspicuous suspension of Ravel. No one had yet brought a glittering and angelic performance into this great space yet, and Eve was starting to lose hope. 

As the judges awaited their next victim, Eve began to assess the space around them. They were centred in the round, staring below at the crescent of a stage with only the finest Boesendorfer grand piano grimacing at the conductor, repulsed by her living situation. The round is not always ideal acoustically, but wooden panelling reaching into the ceiling creates the resonance required in this space. Loops of velvet red seating surrounds the royal purple carpeted stage and biblical paintings hold space on the ceiling. Smart decorations sit in the alcoves of the theatre, golden dragons and brilliant creatures being showcased above the sphere of seats. Eve stirred once she recognised the murmurs of the judges sitting next to her, first chair violin scribbling into his sheet. And then Eve noticed. 

A delicate blonde woman had just taken centre-stage, ready to impress the judges with her rendition of Valses Nobles et Sentimentales by Ravel. She had a beautiful chiffon black dress on and a silky yellow scarf around her long neck, juxtaposing the ostentatious colouring of the theatre around her. 

"Good afternoon, madam. What's your name?" Booms Hugo in the seat next to Eve. She forgets the microphone in front of each of them. 

"Good afternoon, I'm Villanelle Astankova. I'm 24 and have previously been pianist for the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra. Some would call me the best pianist in the world, or, at least I would." She smiles a cocky little smile.

What an asshole, Eve thinks.

"Wonderful, Ms Astankova. The audition begins with a sight-reading and then the prepared piece. Please begin with your sight-reading. You have 5 minutes to get to grips with it. Go." 

This piece is a number of Hugo's own, an impressive 5/8 time sonata. This is his first movement, taking a harmonically dense and texturally rich off-set to prepare for the flurry of arpeggios in later movements. Dissonant parallel movement is what strikes this piece alive and the endless counterpoint questions the integrity of each audition's phrasing. This is usually what causes each audition to crumble from the start. 

Villanelle gently sits upon the cushioned black piano stool and prepares her hands above the piano. The woman quickly reads over the sight-reading and sings it to herself in her head. Eve notices Villanelle's eyebrows knit together, a swarm of confusion and outrage being created in Villanelle's mind as she recognises the impossibility of this piece. What she fails to know, is that it is much easier than it seems initially. The woman begins to plod her hands into the chords to control the tense atmosphere and absorb this piece. She has a characteristic ability to feel a piece within her soul and make a piece of music move with her, the judges were prepared to see how the narcissist manages to navigate Hugo's piece. 

"Ms Astankova, 5 minutes is up." Hugo says. 

The woman stretches her hands and arms and then purposefully settles her hands on the piano. Chordal plodding begins to start and gradually melodies began to interweave each other into a cascading wave of sound. Somehow the dense piece has become magical and charismatic, something the conductor hadn't seen yet. Villanelle manages to animate this complex piece into the manifestation of Spring. Eve can hear birds chirping, leaves rustling, smelling the dewy morning air and falls into a memory as a child. Her mother walking her to school through a park, where a dog approaches her. Eve strokes the dog's lion-like mane as it licks her face. So small. So young. So care-free. Her mother giggling in the background, "Come on, darling. Time for school!" 

Before she knows it the sight-reading is over and so is the memory. The ending abruptly ripping the conductor from her wonderful daydream, what a pity. 

"And now Valses Nobles et Sentimentales, please."

Deep breath in. Villanelle's hands caress at the keys for this mystifying piece of music. She has absorbed the energy of Ravel for this piece, the judges can tell. The pianist plays roll chords and gentle singing melodies as though they have become the vessel of expression for her soul. She allows chromatic melodies to fall beneath her into a lyrical display of the concocted emotions this piece embodies. Swells of pain and bitterness are displayed in this impressionist piece. Villanelle manages to balance the tones of this piece with her academic knowledge of the piano and manipulates dynamic markings and phrase endings into her magical painting of the Valses. She takes an entirely individual and conceptual approach to this piece, which manages to touch the judges in a way no other performer has. The aura around the pianist is complex, intriguing and inviting. Eve begins to wonder about Villanelle's inner world, what makes her playing so magical? Where did she find this intuitive level of playing? How can Eve use this to help the orchestra? What events led to her being able to feel this piece so deeply? Who is she. Who is she. 

The piece comes to a gradual close and Bill announces "Thank you, Villanelle. We will call you with news of your results by next Monday." The other judges had interviewed the beautiful woman prior to hearing her play, and now Eve wonders what Villanelle had answered to the questions. How revealing was she? How telling were her answers? How did she use gestures to articulate herself? God, who is she?

"She is our pianist." Declares Bill. 


	2. Carolyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ mentions of rape, death, drug addiction

It was 2am by the time Eve had recognised the time. She had been taken away watching old Moscow Philharmonic videos, especially piano concertos. She'd kept up all night, watching the other woman, who seemed to give so little away. Except, the pianist was confident and assured. She was inspired. However, her face never told the story of what thoughts were caged in her mind. Somehow Eve could still read some expression, though. Villanelle seemed bored and in a perpetual loop of numbness. Why is that? The conductor had always had a secret passion for female psychology, female drug addicts, female rapists, female killers and an endless list of other female behaviours. No matter how minor Villanelle's parts were, Eve was still interested in how the pianist played. Even though she was a cocky bastard, something was still incredibly inspiring about the way she played. 

Eve woke up the next day at 5pm in her one-bedroom London flat. The whole flat was dull, dingy and dank, acting as a total contradiction to the way that music made her feel fully alive. Her sheets and clothes were construed all over the carpet-less floor and little specs of mould were beginning to grow between the floorboards. The apartment was predominantly filled with basic Ikea flat-pack furniture, all that MDF wood stuff. All of her utensils, toiletries and decorations were varying shades of black, white or grey, except from a golden apple perching on her bed-side table. It was so golden, you could see your reflection in it. Plates of old food were left all over the place and mugs growing mushrooms sat in her open-plan living room. Each withering window was surrounded by rust and grates covered the windows from outside. She realised how her apartment had become a prison cell. 

Life had been so different since her Andrea had died. Eve still remembers their beautiful home, a mansion with delicate decorations. Andrea had been quite the artist aside from her job at MI6. The home was covered with paintings that her wife had composed, all stricken with bold and bright colours. She was a confident, loud, humorous woman with an intellect that meant she could answer any question Eve could ever ask. Eve loved that about her. She could tell what time it was without checking, she would be right. Her wife had been totally magnetic, the type that could talk to anyone she sought after. Andrea could make anyone feel safe and at home in her company. Their mansion was brightly coloured and open-minded just like she had been.

"Oh darling, please can we have this purple velvet chair? Imagine how superb it would be in our bedroom."  
And Eve would unwillingly oblige. But Andrea would be giddy for the rest of her life with that horrific loveseat. Her smile was now ever-present in her mind, even after Andrea began to fade. 

Eve was ripped from her memory by a knock at the door. "Shit." She opens the door to a tall, graceful woman with a short reddish pixie cut. "Oh, hi Carolyn. You scared me there."  
"Sorry about that, Eve." Silence. Carolyn picks up a mug and asks, "are these the magic kind?" Eve chuckles under her breath "No."  
"Well if they are, invite me next time. Anyway, are you ready?" Carolyn demands.  
"For wha- OH. Oh my God. For dinner with Ms Astankova. Oh God. Give me 20 minutes." Eve undresses in front of Carolyn as she desperately attempts to scour for a pretty dress. She settles for a strappy blue dress and matching high-heels. Carolyn, the orchestral director, is shouting to Eve but Eve is too distracted to listen. She dives into the shower and very quickly coats herself in perfume and clothes in preparation for her meal. 

They sit down in a traditional Chinese restaurant- Confucius- and begin to read the menu. It's only to be Villanelle, Eve and Carolyn at dinner that night to welcome the new pianist. The pair are sitting there for 20 minutes having awkward small-talk before they both start thinking 'Fuck, I should escape now'. Then, the sculptured, cocky blonde finds her way into the restaurant and places herself in the seat opposite Eve. "Sorry that I was late, laides. I'm a busy woman." A fake-amused laugh escaped Eve and Carolyn and Villanelle mimics their behaviour. The arrogant blonde watched Eve intently as she scanned the menu and the conductor pretended not to notice. Carolyn opens conversation, "So, Villanelle, what's your dream?"  
"Well, my dream is to work with world famous flautist, Eve Parks." Eve feels a flutter in her chest and gently coughs. "But now, it's to finish travelling the world and eat as much good food as possible." They all giggle together. Villanelle seems to push out a sarcastic laugh any time something is said. This woman must be entirely empty, Eve thinks. This subtle chattering continues to go on for an hour or-so until Carolyn abruptly breaks the conversation, "Right. I think it's time for a night cap for me. Catch the bill will you, Eve. Goodnight," and disappears into the night. Asshat.

Now it is only Villanelle and Eve.

"So, Eve, what brought you to London from Connecticut?" Villanelle quietly enquires.  
"My wife, Andrea." Says Eve very flatly.  
"Oh, that woman was a masterpiece. A true intellectual, Eve."  
The conductor sits quietly, pondering on why on Earth Villanelle would know that detail. Parks hadn't spoken about it with anyone other than Bill since her death 4 years ago. Such a painful death. She had never disclosed that information to the press or even mentioned to Carolyn that it had happened. How did Villanelle know that?  
"You're confused, Eve," silence sits painfully between them "about how I know that." Villanelle clutches the older woman's hands on the table and she quickly retracts from the blonde. Her brows knit together and she stares solemnly at her counterpart. Villanelle leans in and whispers "I know everything about you, Eve."  
The conductor pushes Villanelle back into her seat and a tear slips down her cheek,  
"How did you know that? How? Tell me now. Who told you?" The conductor's voice is crescendoing and rising in pitch. Gradually her words become a shout.  
"Shhhhh, Eve. I didn't mean to startle you. Please, she was a wonderful woman. I'm sorry, let's talk about something else." But she was already ten-feet down the corridor and out of the restaurant before Villanelle finishes what she was saying. "You forgot to pay the bill!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter hopefully we'll dive into some juicy plot. I wanted to change the narrative a bit, so that we have lesbian!eve. Follow me on twitter (@sandrasdildoh) for updates!


	3. You're An Artist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ drug overdose, self-harm, domestic abuse, death

Eve was now running through torrential rain with absolutely no direction, just sprinting as fast as possible. Her feet were pounding on the uneven tarmac, sending her into a hypnotised trance. The air was heavy in her chest, falling and rising, falling and rising, falling and rising. The rhythm of her breath adding to the pensive atmosphere. Her vision seemed to wash out, sending her head first into a memory. 

_"Evelyn." Andrea appears from a coffee shop with a soya latte in hand and an iced doughnut. "For you, beautiful." The angelic woman hands her the doughnut and gently presses a kiss to Eve's forehead and sighs, "Oh, Spain was hell without you. Thank God I'm home." Her beautiful long brown hair settles over her breasts and she's wearing a long grey trench coat with black cargo trousers, a black hoodie and Doc Marten boots. She'd come home from a mission but met her family along the way. At this point they'd been together for 4 months._  
_"You should meet my family, they'd love you!" Exclaims Andrea. Eve chuckles an exasperated laugh in response "oh, what makes you think that Andi. I'm not great with parents!" And again, Eve cackles in exasperation. Andrea doesn't seem so impressed, her brown eyes darkened and her olive cheeks flushed red for a moment._  
_"You know how much I value family, Evelyn. And, you'll have to meet them some day!" Eve nods and smiles, kissing Andrea's cheek. Andi goes blaring red again._

Eve is aware that this is all just a memory, it's just a memory, it's just a memory, IT'S JUST A MEMORY. Her feet are still panging on the hard ground and she finds herself outside the baby blue gallery, Old Blighty. The colour of the gallery is slightly comforting as it brings a sense of joy to her. She perches on the damp concrete step, which has been cast over by the shadow of the white canopy above. The canopy had been tainted by growing moss and the pool of water nestling in the centre of it. The paint was gradually chipping off the building, having been unattended to for many years. 

_"Evelyn. I'm going to share my art with someone. It won't get into the gallery or anything but I'm seeing the head of the Old Blighty." Andrea shouts from the bedroom, where she's packing a bag filled with photographs, paintings, sculptures and drawings. Her strong body is draped with a dark green t-shirt and black Nike leggings. She is so tall and looks like a Greek sculpture. Her legs are incredibly powerful, every muscle made distinct by the tight fabric. Andi was petite but tall and had the most amazing thick, straight, shiny hair. Her eyes were a maroon-ish colour and her lips were full and slightly parted when a smile peered through. Eve was leaning against the white door-frame, holding a treasured blue mug of coffee and peered into their cream-coloured room to see her goddess standing in front of her._  
_"Wow, darling! That's fantastic. Let me know how it goes, I'm sure he'll be impressed." Eve gave a sincere smile to her wife and Andrea waltzed over to Eve, wrapping her strong arms around Eve's waist and picking her up. She squeezed her so tightly and whispered "I love you." into the shorter one's ear. She almost cried with pride for her wife. Andi walked out the door._

_"He LOVED. my art. He absolutely adored it. He bought 7 of my paintings and 3 of my sculptures. Baby, I'm an artist!" Andrea shouted from the front door and ran up the stairs in her muddy shoes to say hello to Eve. Eve walked out wrapped in a towel and peppered her wife with kisses. To this day, the shorter one is astounded by the talent her wife had. She was incredible. "You are an artist." Eve pronounced, staring into her wife's eyes as Andrea lowered to Eve's level and kissed her forehead. "You are an artist." She wrapped her arms around her wife's neck. "You are an artist."_

_The gallery bell rang and they were met by a man called Diego. "You must be Eve," he held out a strong hand that Eve shook. He pat her hand and said "you must be so proud". The couple had attended the art show to celebrate Andrea's success in selling her art. Her paintings and sculptures adorned the colour-blocked walls, matching Andrea's typical plain white suit with white shoes. She always managed to gleam, even in the plainest of clothes. Eve was wearing a "skimpy black dress", as Andrea called it. But they both knew they looked fantastic next to each other. Their arms locked together as they moved around the room, laughing and smiling together. Celebrating as though no one else was in the room- sipping champagne, kissing each other and dancing shamelessly to the awful racket of jazz music being played. They had never had a happier day than that. Everyone must have thought they looked ridiculous, but the couple couldn't care any less. Adoring each other, laughing together and being together made them feel filled with joy and pride. The brides are so in love that all they see is love._

Eve is removed from her memory again by a flickering light across the street. She begins to notice that the gallery is still empty, even after the gallery-keeper had recovered from Andi's death. The was no more art, no more light and not even flooring. There was a vast emptiness that rumoured this building, no one had stepped foot inside since Diego knew of Andi's death. The hollow blackness that invaded this once joyous space is what caused the gallery to feel so broken. The lettering had fallen off above the shop, reminding Eve of the nothingness the gallery had become. She could still envision the ghosts that once wondered this room. She could recall the animated footsteps upon the hardwood floor; the fresh paint smell that tinged the room; the bright splashes of colour juxtaposed by the deep chromatic colours, she could remember this space like she owned it. 

_"Evelyn." Andrea stumbles through the door._  
_"Darling, what's happened to you?!" Eve booms at Andi, grabbing her waist and sitting her in the living room. Her cheeks had sunken in by now and every day she seemed to get skinnier. Andi's skin had become pale, but her cheeks created a deep darkness. Something made her look unhealthy, beyond pale skin, sunken cheeks and darkened eyes, something less tangible. It was like her ailment seeped through her skin and into the air of the house. She reeked of alcohol and Eve could tell Andi was high as a kite. "Oh Eve, I'm so sorry for this. I'm so sorry." Andrea whines, tears rolling off her face and her sob crescendoing. Eve had known something was wrong when Andrea was restless all the time, unable to sleep and constantly out all night. She assumed it was untreated PTSD, but then she saw how skinny Andrea was getting and knew it was from drugs. Her eyes has clouded over. Her cheeks had sunken. She became increasingly irritable and everyday the younger woman seemed to grow quieter. Everything about her had become quiet- her movements, her voice, her heartbeat. It was as though she was gradually leaving her body. While she was so silent, she became violent. The young woman became so burdened and hurt that she used her voice less, only ever reacting physically. Plates would break as the agent became frustrated and she would punch objects, injure herself and have shaking fits in rage. Eve was only ever hurt a few times, nothing significant, but entirely haunting._ _"Shhh, it's okay. It's okay. You can get through this." Eve whispered._  
_"No, no. You don't understand, Eve." But Andrea said nothing else, and Eve didn't want to ask. The feeling of the lingering statement caused the conductor to feel on edge. She was still burdened by her failure to "understand" what she needed to. Eventually, Eve managed to settle her younger wife and she fell asleep. She tried to convince herself that this was normal, that people went complex phases through this. But, deep down, Eve knew she had done too little, too late._

_Andrea was not there when Eve woke up. She gently fondled the sheets next to her, grabbing onto a pillow as she scanned for her wife. Her space was empty but still warm. The conductor gently rose and stretched her eyes open. She was startled by the bright light creeping through the curtain onto her face. Eve peered over at her bedside table to find a glaring luminous pink post-it. 'I'm on an unexpected mission in Rome. See you tomorrow, darling. x∞' Eve longed for her wife, who didn't return for several days. She longed for the moments where Andrea would hold her hand in her sleep or ask mundane questions, such as, "what's for dinner?" or proclaimed her love for Eve through bringing coffee to bed or writing 'I love you'. She wished more for the presence of her wife, the familiar sound of paint brushes being washed in the sink or crashing of her closed easel, and the giggle that would follow. Every day for two weeks, Eve called Italian authorities and hospitals for an Andrea Parks after she stopped returning Eve's calls. Her silence was normal, even when she picked up the phone just to say nothing. But Eve never expected that Andrea would stop picking up calls. Until one day, a police officer in Rome called Eve, asking to question her._

_Eve flew to Rome that night, already preparing for bad news. When she landed, lights and sirens were blaring at her. Everything was blurry, maybe she had been crying or maybe it was the repression of the memory. She was met by doctors and police officers. Young men who all had scruffy hair and exhausted eyes. She already knew what was happening. "Can I see her?" She asked, and they obliged. An older police officer opened the car door to her, driving her to the hospital._

_The woman was displayed on a small hospital bed and Eve approached her wife, stroking her cheeks. A doctor approached her and with no better words said "Cocaina. Died from drug overdose. Sorry." Eve kissed her wife's forehead._

_"Andrea."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Next chapter will be more Villanelle! If you enjoyed, please follow me on Twitter (@sandrasdildoh) for updates on when I post.


	4. The Rehearsal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ panic attacks

Eve stepped up to her conductor's podium, the light glaring on her face. The clatter of instruments being brought into position as each person independently practiced difficult sections. Piccolos in their screeching registers; the smell of old shoes; double basses ricocheting sound in the theatre; the invasion of light in her eye-line; timpanists rattling percussive instruments; the taste of sweat on her upper lip; cellists' clawing sul ponticello pizzicato; clammy hands; violinists' screaming chords; the shaking in her own skin, all becoming a cacophony. All of a sudden the conductor was struggling to breathe- dust was pouring into her lungs in endless supply; she could feel her heart begin its attempt to escape her chest; her mind running in loops "what does she know?"; her teeth trembling so ferociously they could fall out; and then she was sitting on the floor. Her senses are alert and alive but in a dull and undiscerning way. Eve can feel everything, see everything, but she can't tell what's there. She feels as though she has died, choking, clawing, drowning.

Someone has come to sit beside her, their arms grappling tightly around her limp body. They're warm. And heavy. Eve's heart begins to rush even more and her mind moves like Usain Bolt, "what does she know?" but eventually, the conductor's breath evens out. Time seems to have finally evened back into how it's supposed to be, rather than the expanded stretch of time induced by panic attacks. Everyone has paused in stunned silence. The deafening silence. The air is fresh again, the light is darker, the room is bigger. Oh shit, she thinks, everyone has realised. The body beside her, supporting her, protecting her, cradling her, has loosened their grip. They're warm in a comfortable way. She notices that she is surrounded by more than one person. A group were crowded around her. Eve's eyes are closed but she can tell it's someone familiar, they're tall and have soft, supple hands. They're stroking Eve's skin and gently shushing the older woman. Eve can tell it's a woman. She's leaning upon her breasts and she's stroking Eve's hair. "It's okay. It's okay. You're in control." The mantra is recited to Eve, being gently whispered, and Eve comes back to reality. She can breathe again. "Thank you. I'm so sorry about this." Eve responds and opens her eyes. She scans the room to see roughly 10 people caging her in. All concerned and confused faces except for one she can't see, someone holding her. It's Villanelle. What in the hell does she want? Why the fuck is this cocky bastard here? The conductor immediately stands up and stares at the crowd before her- who have all seen what just happened. They're all going to get the wrong idea. Villanelle is just a fucking creep, not a girlfriend. Or even a friend, for that matter.

Eve sprints down from the podium and goes to the bathroom to consider what just happened. Villanelle better have fucking practiced this piece or she's getting fired on the spot, she exclaims. She stares at herself in the mirror, noticing her blood-shot eyes from the previous sleepless night. Eve still has flashbacks of Andrea's death. Her sobbing caused her eyes to bulge and her make-up to majorly run. "Fuck. Fuck. FUCK." The conductor shouts. Events like this keep happening, where she can't control her emotions. She gets tucked away in an old memory and then has a panic attack for seemingly no reason. It sucks.

"Ah, profanities I see." A blonde figure waltzes into a shadow, so nonchalant, so cocky.

"What do you want?" Eve groans out.

"I just wanted to see if you're alright, friend. If you need to go home I'm sure Carolyn can take over." Eve cackles at that, as if the Russian would know what she would want. The woman steps into the mirror next to her and stares at her. Eve is fiddling with her hair, trying to do something about it to cover up the state of her complexion. "So, are you okay?" The blonde gets ghastly close to Eve as she turns the conductor to face her. Their breath mingling together into an intoxicating rush. 

"Yes. I'm fine. Go back to rehearsal. We'll speak at the end." The conductor grunts out. The Russian lingers for a second, empathetically staring into Eve's eyes. It's as though she's watching the storm come to an end. 

"Wear it down." The Russian whispers. She pushes her strong body off from the ceramic taps and glides back through the door. The American watches as the beautiful woman saunters away, and for a minute finds herself feeling flattered by her, feeling intrigued by her again. But she shakes it off once she has taken her hair down.

"Sorry about that everyone. Your playing was just so awful I couldn't bare it." Eve chuckles a hearty laugh and the orchestra laughs with her. "There's nothing to be worried about, I'm okay now. I just needed to calm myself after seeing your horrific, miserable faces." Another chuckle. "The piece isn't that hard is it!" The laughing gradually faded away. Eve's anxiety still ever-present. "So as I'm sure you all know, with Niko's sorry passing we have had to employ a new pianist. This is Villanelle Astankova, who I'm sure you all have already met and know from the Moscow Philharmonic." Astankova rises from her stool and waves at her new colleagues. Cocky bastard. "Because we already know how impressive she is, we're going to look at Ravel's Piano Concerto in G Major. Hopefully she's practiced." Astankova giggles and nods in reassurance. Good, Eve thinks, good. "On my count everyone..."

Villanelle opens with a rippling dissonant sequence to underline the staccato flute melody. Once the first theme closes, Villanelle plays undulating arpeggios. It is clear that she knows this piece inside out. Everyone in the orchestra is clearly familiar with the first movement. The pizzicato strings add the percussive and dramatic tone intended. A crescendo gradually invites the trumpet to imitate the main theme. The piece continues in varying flow, some moments impressive, some less so. But Eve managed to pick apart the tricky parts of the first movement and correct mistakes until it was clear what each musician had to do.

"Excellent practice today. Next week, we'll focus on the pianissimo section." All the musicians packed their instruments except for the pianist, who put her music into a loose folder and jollied down to Eve, now sitting at a desk. The Russian invasively watches Eve annotating the score and mutters in her ear

"So... are you asking me out or something?" When Eve looks up, Villanelle had perched herself on the corner of the desk. Eve bluntly looks at Villanelle.

"No. I was actually going to apologise for leaving you with the bill a few weeks ago. How much was it? I'll pay you back." Eve responds. The tension in the room seems to double as Villanelle looks into Eve's dark, stormy eyes, enough for the shorter one not to realise that the Russian's hands were in hers. The air grows thick between the two of them and Eve gets lost for a minute. " _Andrea_." She releases her clutch on Villanelle's hand. "You don't have to, Eve. It's no problem. How do you think I afford these clothes?" She's wearing a beautiful pink dress with black boots. Her hair is messily placed into a bun. But this child-like woman seems so graceful. The conductor laughs for a brief moment but stops herself, she's been here before. Never again. "Buy me a drink tonight instead." It feels rude and stupid to refuse, she owes Villanelle for the other night.

"No seriously, I'll pay you back. How much was it?" The conductor asks desperately, already trying to get money out of her purse but finding there is none.

"Buy me a drink tonight." Villanelle saunters out the theatre again, having left her music on the desk. The conductor doesn't protest. Instead, she watches astounded as the Russian leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I wonder whether Eve will grab that drink with Villanelle ;). For updates on when I post, follow my twitter:@sandrasdildoh.


	5. Drinks?

Eve followed behind Villanelle, shouting after her. "Hey! Hey! Just let me pay you back!" Villanelle continued walking, her hips swaying gently through the winding theatre corridors. Velvet red carpet adorned the corridors and staircase, with golden ornaments making a statement of the alcoves. This complimented Villanelle's fluffy pink dress. Suddenly, the younger woman turned back around to Eve and grabbed her by the shoulders, "a drink will be my repayment, take it or leave it." Eve paused and stuttered, staring into the delicate woman's dangerous hazel eyes. Villanelle's touch was firm but supportive and brought Eve a stability she needed. The conductor, gobsmacked by the pianist's forwardness, had her jaw slacked as if she could not speak, muttering and murmuring. Eventually, a "yes" tumbled out her mouth unwillingly. Shit. So she's just said yes to drinks. "Fantastic, Eve, there is a pub along the road we can go to." Villanelle responded in her low-toned, sultry voice. Her eyes widened slightly and her lips parted into a glistening smile, showing the woman's immaculate crystal white teeth. Fuck, Eve thought. Villanelle released her hands from her shoulders and winked at Eve, returning to her side as the thick air settled between them. 

The pair arrived at the pub and sat at an enclosed table near the back corner of the room. It was dark and chary of the bustling room. They sat opposite of each other, Eve settling in an evasive sort of way. She hoped this drink would truly only be one drink and nothing more. She wanted to limit this meeting as much as possible to avoid the question nagging at her- how does she know Andrea? Eve has decided she wants nothing to do with this secretive, independent woman. She believes that Villanelle must be discreet and mysterious for a purpose, rather than because she wants to be intriguing. But Eve does not find her intriguing, she finds her shocking, obnoxious and detestable. The woman is arrogant and unpleasant, like no one she'd met before.

"What are you drinking, then?" Says Villanelle in a desperate attempt to break the intense quietness. It's clearly purposeful, and she gives Eve a light and subtle smile. The woman gently watches over the conductor, who exudes power and complexity. 

"I suppose what are you drinking, Villanelle?" Eve realises this came across flirtatiously, which she had not intended. She just wanted to offer Villanelle a drink so this evening could be over quickly. She noticed the pianist's face construe into a playful grin. 

"Hmmm. Maybe a Leg Spreader for me..." Villanelle annunciates over the cocktail name. What has Eve done. "On the rocks." Villanelle bites on her plump bottom lip, gently pulling it between her teeth. Her eyes have targeted and locked in on Eve as she does so, and her eyes glide to Eve's mouth and travels back to her eyes. The woman gently sniggers at the conductor, who has grown hot under the collar. She subtly scratches at her neck to hide the blush that has grown from her cheeks to the back of the neck. Rage fills her bones. Eve cannot believe she is allowing the pianist to disrespect her authority like this, but she owes Villanelle a drink. 

Eve rises to order the drinks from the bar and as she walks, she can feel the anxious air of someone watching her movements. It's sexy and mystifying. She doesn't nervously peer around to see who's watching, instead indulging the feeling of being noticed. Eve approaches the bar, where a man with long, wavy, chocolate hair asks what she would like. He has notably golden skin with a few moles on his cheeks. 

"I'll have the Leg Spreader and whatever your nicest red is, please." Eve says in an exasperated sigh. 

"Bottle or glass?"

"Glass, please." The bartender returns to preparing the drinks as Eve turns to catch the stare of the person watching. Villanelle. She is peering at Eve, with her chin raised high, trying to create power over her. Eve continues to watch the blonde eyeing her and becomes increasingly aggravated by the golden lady. The tension of their eye-contact causes the room to feel tiny, as if it's only them there. She notices the delicate fall of Villanelle's hand upon the table and the magnetism she emanates. Her eyes are wide and cat-like, feasting upon Eve. The conductor seems to be captivated in hatred for this woman, but she's not sure what she's most outraged by: the absurd cockiness characterising her or the secret and mysterious aura that has Eve intrigued. The conductor is shaken from her trance when she notices the drinks that have landed in front of her. 

When Eve settles in her seat, she feels dirty. Having been watched in such a way, she feels like she's on her way home from a one night stand. A one night stand with the most vile, explicit and dirty man she could find. Eve places the drinks on the table and Villanelle was already sucking the straw of her drink in a euphemistic manner. She peers up from her drink and begins to ask questions,

"So, why did you hire me, Eve?"

"I didn't, the director did. She was impressed by your playing and..... _confidence_." Eve lingered on the word, wondering whether this was too much of an understatement. 

"Were you impressed, Eve?"

"By your playing? Certainly. You're very proficient. Elegant." There was a calming pause in conversation as Villanelle dragged at her drink, but it was clear she was desperate to make a euphemistic comment in return. Eve quickly interrupted, "so what inspired you to play piano?"

"My mother left me at an orphanage so playing the piano was the only way I could feel connected to her." Villanelle responds in a blunt tone, allowing Eve to feel hurt for her. She felt mournful and apologetic. For a minute, Eve almost feels broken for Villanelle, empathetic, sorry, melancholic. Shockingly, Villanelle's pouting face is transmitted to an evil grin and she lets out a hearty cackle. Way to wrench at Eve's heartstrings, huh. Eve had bubbled over with rage at this point and had almost yelled in the girl's face, feeling disgusted by her overdose of disrespect. For a minute the incredible vulnerability was innocent and comfortable, until both of them realised the implications of this. They instantly bordered up, Villanelle laughing villainously and Eve purposefully silencing her empathy. "No, I just wanted to show off really." The pianist shrugs out and Eve begins to bounce her leg, feeling agitated. The bounce of her leg shaking the table, and making Eve's drink wobble too. 

"What inspired you to play flute?"

"My mother had always loved Bach's flute music, so I picked up the flute to play Bach for her." 

"And she was impressed?"

"Very." The vulnerability had settled between them again, being congenial at first. For a second, Eve felt safe in her company. Talking about her past was warm and safe with Villanelle, but Eve began to reject this safety. Villanelle is what she perceives as the pinnacle of untrustworthiness and unkindness, safety is dangerous. 

"So you love music because you love your mother?" Villanelle responds in a fake sappy voice and pouts her lips. Making Eve feel childish was the worst thing she could do, but strangely, Eve giggles a little. Her anger was still bubbling beneath the surface, but contentment was overriding for a minute. 

"So you love music because you're a narcissist?" Eve jeers. 

"Maybe something like that." Villanelle laughs back. 

Conversation continued like this for many hours. The rapport was easy and exciting for both of them, electric and ecstatic. Laughing was easy but the air of distrust and fear still held between them. However, their conversation was thrilling and playful. Eve would actively deny this, though, she did not want to be so close to Villanelle. The pub was long-past closing time as Eve drank wine and they were chatting away. As the pub owner told them to close, something unexpected happen. 

Villanelle stood up from her chair once they were told the pub was closing and Eve followed suit. The pair were indulged in their conversation, talking about whether or not a Gregg's sausage roll was really the best. Their discussion was lively and thrilling, even if it was really about nothing special. As they each stood up from the table and began to leave the pub, side by side, Villanelle asks, "Should we go back to mine. Maybe play a duet?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Slightly longer chapter today, but I hope it was good. For more updates, follow me on twitter: @sandrasdildoh


	6. Concerto No. 2

Eve peers hesitantly at Villanelle, who has just asked what feels like an outrageous and scandalous question. Come back to mine? Is that flirtation or is that friendly? Either way, Eve decides to play it safe. She never knows what to expect with the pianist, constantly striking unexpected conversation and being unconventional in her self-expression. But part of her is curious- what is it that Villanelle wants? For what feels like hours, she is staring into the eyes of Villanelle, considering what the next move is before Villanelle decides for her self. 

"Or maybe I will see you another evening? Surely you have work tomorrow." Villanelle enquires in a somewhat haphazard and insecure way. This gets Eve thinking much more deeply and much more closely. She's beginning to question the true intentions of the perplexing woman in front of her. 

"Yes, good point. Maybe we can meet another time." Eve hesitates upon what she's saying, unsure of what to do with her hands in that moment. She feels as though her hands are aimlessly faffing around in that moment, being purposeless. "I'll see you next week at practice." 

"Should we exchange numbers?" Eve asks cautiously and Villanelle enthusiastically agrees. She is very fond of this idea. The pair exchange numbers. 

* * *

Eve returns to the theatre the following day, entering into her small office which seems so dull and dreary as she looks around. The walls are a pale beige colour with blackening speckles of damp growing in the top corners of them. Her desk, a dark wood lump, takes up space in the middle of the drab room, almost choking itself. There is a small window towards the back of the room but the paint around its frame is gradually peeling away, leaving flakes of white dust on the windowsill and floor. The office was truly very boring, except from a corner with her flute and music stand. The films always over-exaggerate the excitement of being a conductor, truly being a conductor is about as luxurious as the lives of people who review books on minor blogs for a living. 

The angelic light of the outside world poured into the colourless room, allowing Eve to feel the gentle kiss of warm sunlight on her olive skin. Eve basked for a minute in the gorgeous glow and let herself come alive under its omnipotence. The sudden drive to interpret came over her. The true art of conducting is being able to approach and interpret music in a new and creative way, which Eve's bones awakened to do. She had always been top of her class for English and music, she had a natural art for understanding other people's emotions. Music allowed the conductor to delve deep into this world, fully grasping onto the complexity of the human brain and being able to finally convey that feeling to an audience. This is what she was born for. 

Once Eve had sat down in her teacher-like blue cushioned desk chair, she found herself inspired to dive into the orchestra's next piece- Rachmaninov's traditional Piano Concerto No.2. The conductor put the piece onto her circa-2008 CD player to listen carefully and follow the music on her score. As the piece began to play through her CD player, she found herself completely carried away by the liveliness of the piece. The conductor allowed for the delicate chords to wash over her in a wave of comfort and felt the blanket of warmth that came with the gentle rising and falling melody. A knock at the door abruptly stole her from her tranquil dream. 

"Come in!" A short burly man appears through the door, in his mid-sixties and holding onto a large A3 file. 

"Hi Bill, what do you need?" The man approaches Eve's desk and pulls a piano stool from the corner to sit opposite her. His body in a slightly strange position, legs spread widely over the edge of the stool and feet firmly placed upon the ground, A3 folder placed upon his lap and his torso construed in a way that his side-profile is facing Eve. He looked weary and concerned. 

"It's about Andrea, there's been news." Eve suddenly felt as though she had lost complete control. She sat deadly still watching Bill with no words to say. Eve just stared at her older friend, eyes set on his and had not worked up the courage to turn off the CD player yet. The conductor was completely overwhelmed by a sudden and unexplained feeling of numbness. She found herself recalling the sound of sirens and the sight of a police car's lights whirring. She felt the uncertainty of sitting in the back of the police car, being asked what she wants to do with her wife's body. Everything felt opaque for a minute, like she wasn't really there.

Gradually, Eve felt her self come back to life and willed a "Continue." before going to pause the Piano Concerto and firmly closing the score book. 

"Look, so- Eve, -" His words were stumbling out all over the place, he had no idea how to explain the news to her. 

"Spit it out Bill!" Eve said fiercely, desperate to find out more about what happened. 

"I spoke to one of the officers on Andrea's case yesterday and they said they were looking for someone. A tall Russian man of about 6 feet, probably between the ages of 40 and 60 and that Andrea had been working on a sensitive case. So-"

"What do you mean a sensitive case, Bill?" 

"Looking along the lines of big murderous organisations, is what I've gathered. They're based in Russia. But-"

"Get me on the phone with the officer. Now!" Eve was now panicking, rushing to find her phone to call the officer who had told this information. "Eve." She was drifting around the room trying to collect items she had kept of Andrea's and feeling around the colourless room for a minute of clarity."Eve." When Andrea had died, the least she had expected was a small amount of clarity. "Eve!"

"What, Bill?!" Eve was practically screaming at this point. 

"I think we should just calm down for a minute. Just hold onto your hat Eve, finding more information won't bring her back to life." Eve was disgusted by his comment, of course her finding more information won't bring Andrea from the dead, but it would sure as hell give Eve some clarity. "My wife died Bill. She DIED. Sorry for wanting to get to the bottom of it." 

"Eve, I'm serious. Sit down right now." She paused in her place, staring down at Bill who sat awkwardly upon his stool. He carried on, accepting that this is the most compromise he will be receiving. His tone became sulky and condescending, feeling as though Eve was not seeing the true reality of the situation. 

"The police officer who was on the case died two days after my call. An unexplained death. So there is no way I will let you investigate this case."

"But she is my wife." By that point she had already decided what she wanted to do. She wanted to go to Russia and find the idiots who were on this stupid case. 

"I am undercover MI6, at least let me do some investigation first and get you in contact with someone who can help." 

"I used to be part of MI6, Bill! You were there when I was! I can investig-"

"I am leading, Eve. If you don't like it, suck it up." Bill spun on his heel and walked dramatically out of the room as romantic chords were being played on the strings in Rachmaninov's piece. Ironic.

Eve was desperate to find out more information and reluctantly let her first chair flautist on his way, letting him run away after having dropped such a bomb on her. She was shocked, maybe terrified, by what she had heard. This isn't what she expected. It was a drug overdose, nothing more. She fell into another one of her trances, spurred by the fact that she was now anxiously waiting for the true reality of her wife's death. She had never expected it to come so soon. Then, within a moment, her phone began to chime. 

_Villanelle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...... do we think Andrea was murdered? Or is this all just a massive mix up?  
> Thanks for all the wonderful comments guys! It's lovely to receive so much support and I hope that this work touches the spot while Killing Eve is on hiatus. Follow me on Twitter (@sandrasdildoh) for more updates! Thanks again :)


	7. A Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of scat and beans kinks loool bye

"Hi, Villanelle." Eve sighed into the phone, making it already clear that right now probably wasn't a good time. She purposefully came across as slightly stressed to see the reaction of her younger friend. 

"Hi, Eve. Is everything alright? You don't seem so well." The conductor knew that the only way to get Villanelle to open up about what she knows about Andrea is by also opening up. The idea of telling Villanelle her feelings did make her guts wrench and her face contort into a cringe but she definitely needed information now. The woman dropped her pride for a minute and decided, walls down. Be honest. This is the only way to find out what she needs to. 

"No, actually, I'm not well. I've just had some difficult news." Eve began to kick herself under the desk, thinking that this is ridiculous. She couldn't help but physically convulse at the fact she's about to tell Villanelle something so personal when she doesn't want to let her guard down to her. From their conversations, Villanelle does actually seem perfectly nice. She's not harsh in a way that feels critical and painful, but rude in a playful way. She's charismatic, although obnoxious, and very clearly has her interesting quirks that make her unique. But she's not downright detestable, not anymore. 

"I'm sorry to hear that, would you like to talk about it?" Villanelle's words were like a gift from god, glistening in its greatness. They were soft and fluffy and so right. So right in that moment. This is exactly what she needed Villanelle to say. She needed to tell her about Andrea so she could get everything she needed. 

"Yes, unfortunately I've found out my wife's death may have actually been a murder, or something along the lines of. I want to find out as much as I possibly can." 

"Eve, that's awful. Would you like to go for a drink or something?" She pondered for a minute, do I want a drink? Hell. Yes, that's the right thing to do. The closer to Villanelle the better. 

* * *

Eve entered into that same pub from last night and spots Villanelle sitting in the corner of the room. She's already sipping at something, but the conductor doesn't think it's alcoholic, probably water. The younger woman looks up from her drink and sees Eve across the room, standing and slowly approaching her to greet her. 

"Hi, Eve." Villanelle says, seemingly with false empathy. She looks fucking bored, Eve thinks. 

"Hi." 

The pair sit down at their table ad Villanelle rudely summons a waiter, clicking at them to come to the table. Eve finds this horrifyingly rude but simultaneously laughs it off. That kind of gross behaviour is the kind of thing she needs to make her realise her life isn't all that shit after all. The waiter approaches, the same man with brown wavy hair and chocolate skin, Diego. 

"Eve would like the finest bottle of red you have."

Eve interjects politely, "no, no. Don't worry about it. No." But Villanelle continues, forcing the waiter to get a bottle of red. He seems threatened by Villanelle's power, and somehow Eve feels threatened to. It's tense. Diego disappears into the back room and the pair sit in silence for a moment. Villanelle seems to have acknowledged that Eve is not a talker and is leaving room for her to decide when she wants to speak. Diego returns with the bottle and two glasses; Eve fills both up and chugs them both straight away. 

"Tough day, huh." Villanelle says with an impression to indicate her shock at the conductor's ability to drink like that. 

The silence prevails for a while, until Villanelle finally blurts something out. 

"What if your soulmate had a scat kink? What would you do? Would you still date them?" 

Eve chuckles heartily for a moment but Villanelle's face is virtually blank from expression. She's serious. The question is fucking serious. And Eve laughs even harder at the fact Villanelle has said that. A warmth grows in the conductor's chest as the younger woman realises the impact her strange question has had and also laughs. For a second, Eve's world washes away, and she realises she does want to be close to Villanelle. But the conductor instantly represses this thought, reminding herself of the curious factor that the pianist new Andrea. But that feeling of warmth was nice for a minute, distracting. For a minute she escaped her world.

"So they're my soulmate? But they like to play with shit?" Eve laugh continues to grow, until it is filling the room completely. 

"Yes, Eve. What if this really happened? What if you're laughing right now but your one true love is out there, walking in the world, with a scat kink?" Even Villanelle is laughing a bit now. What a strange question.

"Well, because they're my soulmate, I think I would have to accept it. I think I would participate just to be kind, but maybe not to get horny over it." Eve feels the pain in her stomach from laughing so much. The question isn't even that funny, it was just the shocking relief it brought in the context. 

"So, you're telling me you would do it, too? Wow, Eve, I never saw you as such a romantic!" The pianist gently touches the back of the conductor's hand as they laugh together. The feeling of closeness and trust is now permeating this space and begins to feel warm and comfortable. Eve doesn't necessarily acknowledge it, but she certainly feels it. It's almost homely. Gently this fizzles out and they are left looking at each other, left with the glow of humouring each other. A chuckle reemerges every few seconds but they gradually come to a stop, still feeling fuzzy from the excitement of finding someone this thrilling. Eve notices that while she's there, the world seems to disintegrate around her. It's nice, though. It's nice to forget the world for a moment. 

"Villanelle, what about if your soulmate were to pour beans on you as a kink. Like, baked beans?" Eve doesn't really believe in soulmates, and she thinks Villanelle probably doesn't either. But this is fun conversation, and that is a question she can ask later. 

"Oh, absolutely not. What if the beans pour into my mouth?!"

"Well maybe you're hungry?"

"I will never be hungry for baked beans. And I love food. That's saying a lot."

"But Villanelle, they're your soulmate?"

"My soulmate doesn't want baked beans poured on me, she respects the temple that is my body, Eve." The conductor finds herself cackling from the pits of her stomach again. She's having such a fun time that she forgets what she's even here for, just enjoying herself. Maybe the drink has gone to her head already, or maybe Villanelle is just funny. 

"Do you believe that you have a soul? Or that we have soulmates?" Eve asks inquisitively. The response she gets is completely surprising. For a minute Villanelle laces her fingers together and considers the question. 

"Yes and no. I don't believe we have a soul but I do believe we have a handful of people who were made to be together somehow."

"Interesting response." This leaves Eve thinking for a few minutes, has Villanelle met her 'soulmate'? Is she still waiting?

"What do you think, Eve?"

"That it's all bullshit." The pianist raises her eyebrows in shock. Clearly she believes Eve is much more sappy than she actually is, impressive. This may be the first person she's ever miscalculated. 

"What?!"

"It's bullshit. No one is supposed to be together. Humans just exist to use each other to survive, until we finally drop dead." The blonde is still incredibly shocked by this answer, Eve can tell. She also realises that she must feel vulnerable, having such a romantic and cliched view of the world in comparison to Eve. It makes her aware of the safety between them. 

"So not even Andrea? She's not your soulmate?"

"Absolutely not. She was an incredible woman, not my soulmate." The question glides over Eve without a second thought for many seconds. Then, she remembers why she's there. "Speaking of which, it's suspected that she was murdered. I'm desperately trying to get to Russia so I can find more information but I know nothing about the place. Help?"

The pianist seems eager to help Eve, prepared to. It's like this is all that she's wanted.

"Yes, of course. I'll help with anything you need."

Eve wasn't expecting the pianist to be so eager to help out. She accidentally slipped out a thought that was she was supposed to brew over in her mind.

"Why not come with me to Russia? I could use a companion and rehearsals are on break for a few weeks." SHIT. FUCK. BOLLOCKS. IDIOT MISTAKE. So much for KEEPING DISTANCE, HUH. 

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So why the hell did Eve ask Villanelle to go to Russia? Is there a plan?   
> Thanks for all the lovely comments again! For more updates, follow my Twitter: @sandrasdildoh


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